Exquisite Corpse
by Electric Smile
Summary: One shots and little ideas that don't really qualify for full-fledged fics, generally involving Vega. featuring-so far-Bison, Cammy, Chun-Li, Juri, Decapre, and Viper. Short summaries are provided at the beginning of each 'chapter'. 10: Months after thwarting Vega's attempt on her life, Chun-Li finds something she forgot was in her apartment.
1. Rival

Rival  
>Characters: Vega, Chun-Li, and a small bit of Bison<br>Summary: When Bison offers up a sedated Chun-Li as a way to entice Vega into remaining with Shadaloo, Vega reacts in an unexpected manner.

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><p>If Rose was the opposite and equal reaction to Bison's action, then Chun-Li was his. Bitter rivals, two sides of the same coin, and one great never-ending struggle. They'd be this way forever. If Shadaloo collapsed tomorrow, and Bison were somehow obliterated from the face of the planet, things wouldn't change. He'd chase her. Then she'd chase him. And around they'd go, until someone dropped dead.<p>

He hated her. The very thought of her made his blood boil, spiked his adrenaline levels. Seeing her like this was not what he wanted, though. He could kill her very easily. She wouldn't struggle. Bison made sure of that. "Call it a reward," Bison said. "I won't think twice about what you do with her." He shoved the woman forward, and she stumbled slightly. Her eyes were dull as she stared straight ahead. Brainwashed. He'd done this once for Sagat, offering up Ryu in an attempt to get the Thai man to stay on as a commander. Had he begun to notice Vega's own disillusionment? Not with the ethics, but the aesthetics, of course.

Vega looked at her for a moment. She was pretty. Hated her for it. She was a kind person. Hated her for it. She was a good friend to those she loved. Hated her for it. All around perfect. He looked from her to Bison, who waited patiently for some response, some indication of how this was going to end. "What do you think I am?" Vega asked.

"It was a difficult task, catching this one," he said. "Who else would better enjoy executing her than you, I thought." The man paused for a moment, and then finished his thought. "And I supposed that you would enjoy this however you'd like."

Unable to contain himself, Vega felt his nose wrinkling and his brows drawing together, almost involuntarily. "What is it you think I would do to her? Keep her tied up in my closet for future use? That I want her as a pet?" he snapped. "You insult me."

Bison smirked. "I'm surprised you find the idea so distasteful, considering the remarks you've made concerning her attractiveness." Bison felt he was long since beyond having to deal with petty matters such as physical attraction, and found it amusing more than anything now. Sex was an unnecessary distraction that he had little problem not taking part in.

"She may be beautiful, but I would never in my life want to do anything more than bleed her dry," he said, slender fingers taking a tenuous grasp of the woman's throat. She didn't react. He narrowed his eyes. How dull. How boring. "Rape is an ugly act." His hand traveled upward, fingers brushing over her cheeks to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. "To force a beautiful thing to submit to you, it's a vulgar display of power." His eyes grew dark. He was thinking of someone else now. It was plain to Bison as he seemed to stare through Chun-Li. "He'd steal something every time, little by little. She'd slowly wilt into a hideous shell. Her beauty would fade with her spirit, and that soul-crushing gaze would say it all. It disgusts me to even think about it." His eyes seemed to focus again as he turned to Bison. "And it disgusts me that you presume I'd ever want any part in taking a beautiful woman by force."

Bison was a little insulted. He'd offered up a pretty rare prize, and Vega was rejecting it. He could humiliate the woman who had so many times humiliated him, and now, he'd have none of it. He hadn't expected Vega to refuse. His thoughts on the matter were more complicated than expected. Vega had expressed very often that he had no interest in power. That he didn't care at all about posturing and showing off his authority over another. Vega did not care for authority, and it dawned on Bison that these were all leftovers from the damage his mother's death had done to him. Having seen so often a man of authority try to force it upon others, to show off his 'power'... He'd find himself no better than the pig he hated if he were to ever sink so low as to take a brainwashed, drugged, or unwilling woman to his bed.

"Perhaps I have misunderstood you," Bison said finally. "I'll dispose of her efficiently enough, however."

"No," Vega said quickly. "Leave her with me."

The general was a little taken aback. Had the young man just not expressed his distaste for the offer? Was he going to change his mind? He wasn't leering at her hungrily, as he had seen so many of the lower ranks do with the Dolls when they were still under his control. There was no real desire in Vega's eyes as he glanced at Chun-Li. "I trust you'll take care of her, then." That was one thing Bison could expect. Vega hated her, perhaps more than anyone else still alive today. It was part of the reason he thought he may enjoy using her. Vega's sexuality was never something Bison thought about, but he supposed him to be a violent and forceful lover. In retrospect, perhaps that was painfully wrong to assume. Given his hatred for power, and his sentimental love for beautiful things, maybe he'd be surprisingly kind. Or maybe he'd deem no one worthy enough. Or even further, perhaps his mother's emotional dependency upon him led him to find sex to be a difficult and awkward trial. It wasn't a subject he was greatly concerned with.

"Yes. Give me a little time," Vega said. So Bison did. Vega waited patiently for a few minutes, until finally he was sure he was alone. He turned to the brainwashed woman. "You know I hate you." She didn't respond, of course. "That I do want to kill you." He stepped closer. No response. "But not yet. And not like this." He was only speaking to her on the off chance that she would remember it later. "I'd kill you because you're beautiful, but you don't seem to understand that people like us-we're _made _to suffer. That the rest of the world will always be biting at our heels like rats and other...foul little things." He couldn't look at her anymore. She wasn't quite so pretty this way, with her clouded over eyes, passionless, no fury, no joy. "That's what I'm hunting, you understand? I have to. I have to destroy them, before they destroy me. Before they destroy us, and any of the other beautiful things there are. But I'm alone in this. It's overwhelming. There are simply too many. And you-" He watched her as she blinked. She was climbing her way back up, out of the fog. He took her by the wrist, and led her along like a child as he spoke.

"You're like me. And that's why I hate you. We both just want the same thing, but we'll never be able to have it again. We both had to sit idly by, helpless and weak and..." He gritted his teeth, found himself squeezing her wrist. Thunder cracked sharply overhead as he led her outside, further darkening his mood. "We both lost everything we had. But you don't seem to suffer for it like I did. No. Instead, you gain everything back. New friends, new life, new career, success after success." He blinked quickly to keep the rain out of his eyes. He led her, further and further away from the base, out beyond its borders, into the wilderness. She was accusing him with her eyes, those dead, foggy eyes. "Don't you say a thing. I'm not a failure," he snapped. "You don't think I've worked hard to get where I am? Why should you have all the accolades? Why should you be loved so quickly and readily?" He shoved her away, and she seemed to be coming around from the sudden movement. She stumbled in the wet grass, fell to the ground.

"I'll kill you one day. To save you," he said. "Not because I care about you. Not to know that you're safe or happy. But to keep those rats, those foul little things, from destroying another beautiful thing."

She pushed herself up, the jarring fall bringing alertness with it. She blinked away the rain, seemed to slowly be coming back to reality.

"But when I kill you, it'll be a death worthy of you. Not like this." He spread his hands to indicate the manufactured nature of this encounter. He didn't want her drugged and on her knees. He didn't want deadened eyes before the fatal blow had even been delivered. He wanted that anger, the primal rage as self-preservation instincts kicked in. Survive, survive at all costs. "When you die, I'll make it something beautiful. But for now..." He paused as he watched her rise back up to her feet, cautious, prepared. The last thing she expected of him was for him to turn around and walk away.


	2. Namur

Namur  
>Characters: Vega<br>Summary: Vega encounters something bizarre and frightening during a job. Slight crossover.

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><p>He hadn't been to Namur before. Granted, this wasn't a vacation. He wasn't here to enjoy this place. A small private plane bound for Bangkok would be leaving in a few hours, preferably with him on it. So even then, he decided, he couldn't really say he'd ever been here. He leaned forward some, giving himself a better view of the fairly empty road below. He was sure to be careful not to grip the old, eroding statues set in the roof around him. Who knew how much pressure it would take to chip a piece off and send it noisily to the street, alerting his target?<p>

It was cold, but there was no breeze, leaving nothing to cover any sounds he might make. Rustling cloth. His boots on the roof. Maybe even the distinct sound of metal glancing off stone. He felt his spatial awareness with the wrist-mounted claw was exceptional, but the possibility left him annoyed. He rested the hand on the knee of the snarling goblin to his right for a brief second while he shifted his weight from his heels to his toes. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, making sure his blade was completely in the shadow cast by the distraught angel to his left. Moonlight glinting off the metal would be all the warning the man would need. Most people who knew they'd wronged Shadaloo, after all, knew to always remain alert.

Maybe the town was busier during the day. But now, most of the residents were sleeping, or at the very least, in their homes. It was dark and cold and eerily silent. He looked down the lane for any sign of movement. The man apparently felt safer at night, as if that would protect him. Keep him hidden. It hadn't worked for anyone else.

He exhaled quietly from irritation. He could feel his own breath on his lips, trapped against his face by the mask he wore. He didn't like being kept waiting. He let his eyes wander for just a second over the silent company he kept up on the old cathedral. The goblin offered no clues. He rolled his eyes, then turned them left. He felt an involuntary quirk of his eyebrows at the sight. Hadn't this one on his left, the angel, been covering its face in distress? Now its arms hung at its side, its head turned downwards towards him. He studied it intently for a few seconds, as anyone might when faced with what must have been a lapse in memory, so that it wouldn't happen again. It appeared old, the stone eroded and chipped in many places. Glazed, stony eyes stared back at him out of a passive face. No expression at all. That was sort of the style in some places but it seemed rather inconsistent to him. But it was nearly hypnotic, calming, even, how inexpressive its eyes were.

He was letting himself get distracted by it. So he returned his eyes to the street again. There wasn't anyone out here, still. It just made him more impatient. He hated working on a schedule as tight as this one. His ride to the airport was probably in a similar mood, having to wait in a parked car in the cold. Not that he could care-he considered himself to be doing all of the hard work.

Finally, he heard it-the unmistakable sounds of a man shuffling down the street. He turned his attention towards it, and confirmed the lone figure was his target. A man bundled in an overcoat, head down but eyes searching. There was something, too, in the corner of his eye-

It was the statue. The angel. He felt his stomach drop at the sight of it, crouched beside him and one arm reaching out for him. The face was no longer completely without expression. Its lips were turned downwards in a scowl, eyebrows drawn together. Something was wrong about this thing. The timing of the man's arrival could not have been better. He jumped from the rooftop, eager to escape the bizarre statue. He should have waited until the man was directly beneath him, but he could cover the space of a few feet quickly enough.

The man took notice immediately, and drew his hands from his coat pockets. Not hesitating a second, Vega lunged forward. He gave a cry when he felt resistance. Something had him by the collar of his black shirt. The other man shouted something in French, and Vega saw over his shoulder the hideous face of the angel, now baring needle-sharp teeth. Vega let out a curse of his own, completely terrified of the thing, and in his desperation, tried to tear free, never taking his eyes off of its face. He didn't understand what it was doing-it had him in its grasp but just stood there. Was it some sort of weird intimidation thing? Was some asshole getting off on scaring him? He finally heard stitches in the fabric tearing, felt his shirt rip down his back until the whole thing split. He struggled with the sleeves for a brief second before ridding himself of them and leaving the whole shredded shirt in the claw-like grasp of the statue. His undershirt was in tact, at least, and he had that to be thankful for.

It all happened in the space of a few seconds, and he still had his target to remember. He heard heavy footsteps as the man bolted, so he followed, also eager to leave the statue behind. He caught up with the man quickly, caught him by one arm, made to spin him back into the opposite direction, only to find he'd unwittingly forced the man into the angel. How had the thing moved so far so suddenly? The man shouted, wriggling helplessly as his other arm was being squeezed painfully by the statue. Its other hand was just at his side.

Vega stared in disbelief. The man groaned as he struggled to get his wrist from the statue's hand, but it wasn't budging. "Please, don't kill me!" the man begged finally. "I turned those men in, but I had my own life to think about too!"

He wasn't even listening anymore, just watching the statue as it stood perfectly still, looking for all the world as if it were ready to devour the man. He wanted very much to be as far away from it as he could. He didn't have time for begging or crying. Could he kill his target without that thing killing him? He wasn't going to take the chance. So he ran. Shortly after, he heard the man screaming. He'd killed dozens of people for his work, but never had he heard someone scream like that. Curiosity overcame him, and he glanced over his shoulder. The man was nowhere to be seen, but the angel had somehow moved half the distance between himself and where it had last been.

He'd never pushed himself so hard in his life. That thing was following him. Every time he turned to look, there it was, closer each time. But he never saw it move. He was too terrified to try to figure the statue out now, and kept running. He simply had to reach the waiting vehicle. The thing couldn't possibly move faster than a car. He looked again, and sure enough, there it was, just a few feet behind him. He watched it as he turned the corner that put him in sight of his accomplice. Curiously enough, the angel stood still as he ran, simply watching him take the turn. He returned his eyes forward, making sure that the car was still there. Its lights came on as if to reassure him of its presence.

He came to a stop beside it, grabbing at the handle as soon as it was in reach. He didn't stop to look for the statue as he all but jumped into the passenger seat. "Go!" he nearly screamed to the driver, wondering why the idiot hadn't already started moving the minute he'd opened the door.

"What happened? Police?" the man asked as he shifted into drive.

As if to answer, the glass of the window beside Vega shattered. The claw-like hand of the statue had wrecked it. Vega stared up in horror. When had it gotten so close again? It snarled angrily, seemed to be reaching through the window at him.

"Shit!" the driver shouted as he slammed on the gas. There was the sound of metal squealing as it crumpled against the arm of the statue before the car finally took off. "What in the hell was that?!"

Vega didn't answer. He didn't have a response. He ventured to look out what remained of the window, and saw it had resumed the stance it had on the cathedral roof. It was hard to see it now as they left it behind, standing alone in the dark street.

"Are there more of those things coming?" the driver asked.

"Ten," Vega responded.

"Fuck!"

"What?" Vega nearly cried at the sudden outburst.

"Ten of them?"

"What do you mean? I only saw the one," Vega responded.

The driver blinked a few times. "I misheard you, I guess, but shit. Maybe I'll take that plane, too." In the end, he didn't, but instead returned to Brussels while Vega headed for Shadaloo. The flight was long and boring, but he couldn't sleep. He didn't want to shut his eyes or he'd find himself thinking about that statue in Namur. If it was a statue. He supposed it couldn't be. But the further he got from it, the less he believed that it had happened. Then he remembered his outer shirt was missing, left out on the street, most likely. Someone would find it, but would it be of any use in a case on his target? Had his target even been killed? He never saw the body, after all.

Knowing this-or not knowing, rather-made it all the more difficult to answer General Bison's questions. He hadn't been on the ground in Thailand for more than a few minutes before he'd been found. "What, exactly, are you wearing?" Bison questioned, indicating the white undershirt. It was a dead giveaway in the dark.

"_You _do not even want to hear the details of the nine I had," Vega all but spat, irritated with being unable to even get himself settled before being questioned.

"The nine what?" Bison replied, confused and also irritated.

"The _night. _The night I had," Vega clarified.

"Was the target eliminated?"

"I don't know."

That was something Bison hadn't expected to hear. Vega was good at what he did, and hadn't yet botched an assignment. "Explain."

"How can I explain it when I don't even know what happened?" Vega snapped. "Something attacked me. And the target, I think, last I saw him it had him by the arm and wouldn't let go. I felt my life was threatened and I hope you realise I'm not willing to die over any of these jobs!"

"You realise the inherent risk of death comes with every assignment as an _assassin, _correct?"

"This was different! It wasn't someone with a gun or something! It was-" he waved his hands, unsure even how to say it without sounding ridiculous. "It looked like a sculpture, or a statue. Like you'd see around a cathedral, or maybe even a graveyard, you understand? But it could move. And it did move. That's where my shirt is, by the way." He grabbed at the white one he was still wearing for emphasis. "It had me by the collar and when I tried to get away, rather than the cloth just coming loose, the thing's grip was so strong, it tore my entire shirt in half."

As expected, Bison seemed skeptical. "I've heard some interesting excuses for failing to complete an assignment before, but never anything quite so incoherent."

"I've been on a plane for eight hours, what do you want?" Vega said, heading towards his own room. He knew Bison wouldn't buy his story, so he didn't quite know why he was bothering with telling it.

"Twelve, actually," Bison corrected.

"I don't care!" Vega exploded finally. "An angry statue _thing_ tried to kill me, I may or may not have lost my target because the statue may or may not have killed him instead, it nearly wrecked the car taking me to the airport, and now you think I'm making up grandiose lies to get out of trouble, how stupid do you think I am by the way?"

Bison was unable to speak with this particular commander when he got so irritated, and was ready to give up trying. "Sleep this off. Tomorrow I expect you to explain to me _exactly _what happened in Namur. You'll be honest, or you'll regret it."

Vega rolled his eyes at the threat. "Of course, sir. Seven in the morning." Bison raised an eyebrow, but wasn't up to bothering with Vega any further. The general left, and Vega was finally free to try to get some sleep. He rubbed his eyes. They were feeling dry.


	3. Program Terminated

Program Terminated  
>Characters: Cammy, Vega<br>Summary: Killer Bee, having taken control of her own mind, races to free the Dolls, and finds help where she least expects it.

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><p>"You were meant to kill me," she said. The familiarity and unfamiliarity of it all left her speech slow and dazed. It was like seeing the world for the first time, but not. She lacked the vocabulary to describe her emotions. She wasn't even used to experiencing them yet. Her eyes never left the man in black. She knew him. He was her commander, her teacher.<p>

"I felt it conflicted with my other orders," he responded. He'd startled her, bursting into the room so suddenly. She gathered from his reaction that she'd surprised him as well. They hadn't moved, with him still in the doorway and her standing at the console, searching for the whereabouts of the other dolls. Like her, but not-they'd been born, had normal lives before their kidnapping. She'd been created from the start to kill.

"He kills people who defy him," she said. "Doesn't he? That's why you were supposed to kill me."

"I'm not interested in dying today."

"But me?"

"You should be as far from here as possible," he said. The tone in his voice. What was that called? Irritation.

"I have to save them. From him." She observed him closely. The mask on his face made this even more difficult for someone who had a tenuous grasp on emotions to begin with. Would he revoke his promise of protection in order to save his leader? She looked for any sign of movement, any indicator of his intent to pounce. Something seemed to be consuming her insides as she confronted the idea that she might fail. Her breathing came quicker, waiting for his response.

"I want you to leave," he ordered, pointing out towards the way they came in. "He might kill you if he finds you."

"I do not take orders from you any more, Commander Vega," she answered. She inhaled deeply as she considered all of the implications that such a statement made. Her life was her own, to do what she wanted with now. She could never go back to anything else. "I will save them, or die trying."

He was silent, and she could not see his face to gauge a response. Then, quietly, as if for his own ears more so than hers, "Nothing more fun than a beautiful, but stubborn, girl." He looked up at her. "The entire base is under attack. Stay close, and stay low. I can lead you to the psycho drive, and from there, hopefully, you can find a way to free them."

She felt warmth, in her chest. The corners of her mouth twitched. Happiness. Relief. She was not alone.

They darted through the halls of the base. Shock troops roved in packs, and due to her former commander's seniority, none even stopped to think that an act of sabotage was under way. All concern was being directed at the paramilitary force hammering down on the terrorist organisation. "The dolls," she said as they ran, "where are they now?"

"He'll keep them near him. His own personal guard."

Another feeling came upon her, and it was the easiest one to identify yet. The urge to harm, to lash out for an offense, anger, rage. She clenched her fists, and pushed herself to run faster. She easily outran Vega. A reminder of her differences from a normal person, as he was hardly what she would describe as slow. The lithe young man was one of the fastest people she'd ever engaged in combat with, and she left him a good few feet behind with the gap widening. There was only one thing she was focused on, and that was her mission. She would not leave those innocent girls, stolen from their homes in the night, to become the human shields to a monster.

"He may try to kill them, you realise?" Vega asked.

"I will not let him."

"You may not be given a choice in the matter."

"We all have a choice." She let the phrase burn itself into her brain, repeating it over and over. She was not a drone anymore. She could be a person.

The ground beneath them shook from the force of a nearby explosion. She stumbled to her knees, and he braced himself against the wall. "It's there," he said, nodding towards the end of the corridor. He took her by the wrist, helping her back to her feet. Upon reaching the entrance, he hesitated at the door. He would have to unlock it for her to enter. No one was good enough at overriding the security systems put in place by Bison. He gave an impression of genius in such a variety of areas-everything from genetics, to computer science, to engineering, he seemed to know it all, and thoroughly so. Combining the knowledge with nearly supernatural powers made him a very intimidating foe. And by entering the numbers necessary for entrance to this room, Vega may very well have been invoking the wrath of a god. Was it worth the risk? With a sigh of, "Why not?" he unlocked the door. He'd already given tacit refusal to kill the girl by intentionally losing his fight to her. What was one more act of defiance? And at a time like this, when there was so much else to worry about?

The room was empty. He found it a relief. The room looked something between an operating room and a lab. The psycho drive was not just a stasis chamber, but an energy conductor. Destruction and creation, all possible through one machine. She stared at it as if it were an ancient relic, a mystery in need of solving. "How does one operate it?" she asked quietly as she stepped towards it.

"It would kill a normal person," he responded, shaking his head. "I couldn't know."

"Through it, he retains control of the dolls." She stood before it now, looking through the glass. "The symbols, on the controls," she said as she attempted to read them. "What language?"

Vega stepped warily towards the machine, as if it would somehow kill them any minute. Were Bison's body to be destroyed, his 'spirit' would race back to this spot. That psycho power, he knew, was the reason for this. This thing conducted it back, drawing the stuff like a magnet, and through means unknown to him, somehow, the body would grow from it. And he would be just as he was before, ready to dole out revenge. He'd never been so close to it before. He looked as she had, into the chamber itself. "I don't know," he answered after considering it. He knew several languages. This writing resembled none of them.

A nearer explosion drew their attention, both of them turning back towards the corridor. "There is no time to wonder anymore," she decided. She pressed a hand against the glass, and to her surprise, a mechanism hissed as it unlocked. She stepped back, and it slid open. She could not be sure what would happen to her in there, but it could not be worse than living with the knowledge that she didn't try. She turned towards Vega, and said, "Whatever happens, do not try to stop the process." She could see his eyes behind his mask, inexpressive it seemed. But what did the rest of his face say, she wondered? She stepped inside, and instantly felt too confined. The feeling worsened as she turned back around in time to watch the capsule shut. She could see now how emotions were prohibitive. Part of her was telling her to stop, to run, to get out like the commander had first said. But there was another part of her, a braver part, that told her to press on, that she could free them, and with that act, free herself as well.

Her eyes slid closed. This machine was psychic in nature, she realised. She thought to it her order, demanded it to sever the psychic link between Bison and the twelve dolls. "Identity confirmation required," intoned a computerised voice. Was she such a fool that she thought Bison would allow just anyone to make this thing work? "Identity confirmation required." What could she say to it? She searched for an identity, but she had none. She was a thing, not a person. "Intitialising rejection of unauthorised personnel."

"No!" she cried, slamming her hands into the walls of the chamber. She saw Vega start forward, as if to try to get her out, but then, the computer voice stated, "Identity confirmed-General Bison." She gasped out her relief. She was his clone. Created from him. It was beyond her, how they could share DNA yet look so unlike each other. But it was good enough to fool his machinery, and that was all she needed for now. She re-thought her command, and then, there was light. Her eyes flew open, and she saw hundreds of luminous points, it was so close and so warm. She felt something intangible reaching into her mind. And then, it was as if her own brain was exploding out into the world, searching everyone for the right mind. It was impossible, feeling twelve different minds all at once, seeing and feeling and thinking everything as they experienced it. In the chamber, she began to convulse, eyes wide and staring. Reality became a blur around her-there was only herself, and these twelve minds. And she thought: _You are free. _So they were.

The task complete, she felt all of the severed links retracting back to the psycho drive. Back to her own mind. She was absorbing it. It was like a fire burning through her brain, over her nervous system. The machine was shutting down as she screamed. Vaguely, she was aware of shouting, and then, there was noise, something other than the sounds of her own screams reverberating in the capsule. She felt someone taking hold of her by the arms, pulling her from the machine. Her eyes were wet with tears, her nerves shot. She struggled to stay awake. "Free, free, free, " she kept repeating, over and over, trying in vain to tether herself to consciousness.

"Stay awake," she heard a voice demanding. Vega. He was still here. Propping her against the machine, trying to keep her upright. Her protector. A preposterous notion. She was designed to be stronger than anyone else. What did she need a protector for? "Come on, bumble bee, stay awake." She felt herself being shaken, but that was no concern. It was so far away. Her eyes focused for a brief second on his face-she could see him now, his mask was pushed back to rest on top of his head. She'd remember that face. She'd thank that face for sparing her. He helped her free them. She'd fought all she could to not slip away, but her body won out over her mind. Her eyes rolled into her head, and just before she passed out, she felt herself being lifted from the floor.

All memory of the events became lost to her when she next woke.


	4. Sometimes

Sometimes  
>Characters: Vega, Bison<br>Summary: A disillusioned young man is offered a job by a mysterious stranger.

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><p>Sometimes, they aren't afraid. Sometimes they are arrogant enough to think they stand a chance. They think of him, that scrawny-looking kid, and they can't imagine someone like that being able to strike fear into much of anyone. They are inexperienced. They wake up in the morning, he decides, and review the progress of endless deadlifts and other such monotonous exercises. They think that strength makes them invincible.<p>

He watched from the corner. People have nearly become indistinguishable to him when they jump up here, volunteering themselves for the night's entertainment. There was no shortage of muscle-bound morons who sized up their competition and decided it'd be easy money to pummel some "asshole in a mask", as he'd been told. He never responded to them. Acknowledging this sort of asinine banter was beneath him.

Turning his eyes from the man as the rules of the fight were explained, he surveyed tonight's audience. More of the same. The scummy sort of people who got their thrills from watching two people beat each other senseless. People who had nothing better to do with their evening than drink themselves stupid. And the occasional criminals who did their dealings in a place sponsoring an already lurid act, as if it would provide some sort of shelter from watchful eyes. Sometimes there were those curious individuals who seemed unaware of what went on here, but needed to see it nonetheless. Most couldn't stomach a whole match, and were gone before it was over. Others found themselves a new hobby for lonely evenings. He eyed one such individual, likely some sort of businessman, and challenged himself to predict exactly how long it would be before he left with just a tinge of disgust.

The man in the opposite corner let out a primal howl as he was introduced to his audience. A few lifted their drinks to him. He heard another shout, "good luck!" A few made jokes to him. A few more told him very adamantly to get rid of this kid already.

He took no notice of his own introduction, focusing instead on his opponent, who seemed now to be nothing but a testosterone and adrenaline fueled ape. He heard, as if in the back of his mind, jeers from patrons who had grown tired of watching him win. A pang of irritation, but nothing more. He couldn't waste another ounce of concentration on them.

Now he was alone with the man, who swung a length of lead pipe from side to side as if to test its weight in his hands. Another one of those. He stood and waited for the man to approach. And he did. With a childish roar, the man charged forward. How many like him would make the same mistakes, over and over? Arm drawn back and ready to bludgeon, the man was finally close enough. With a hefty swing of his arm, he brought the pipe down. Vega stepped away, and shook his head at the predictability before bringing his leg up, heel connecting with the back of the man's head. A brief few seconds of stumbling allowed him for another kick while his opponent was unstable. The blow connected with his lower back, and the man fell forward, face rattling the chain link of the cage.

Ever the gentleman, Vega allowed him a second to regain composure. The man, furious with the embarrassment, shook his head and jumped to his feet. "You think you're funny or something you little shit?" He felt his lips twitch behind his mask, irritated with the turn of phrase. He'd heard it too many times before by a similar breed of man. There was no need to be humane to someone who would not return the favour. In a few short strides, he reached his opponent who swung the pipe again. Vega ducked beneath, and lashed out with the claw secured to his arm. The man let out a curse as it connected, leaving fine lines in his shirt and skin. With his free hand, Vega followed up with a hard blow to the side of the man's face, and then dropped low. A sweeping kick left the man on the mat. He delivered a kick to his ribs, causing the man to gasp for air and roll away. But Vega wasn't going to allow that.

Taking a handful of the man's hair, he pulled him to a sitting position, and waved a finger in his face, as if a parent reprimanding a child. The man gritted his teeth at the condescending behaviour, but his expression quickly changed when the blades of the claw glided over his face. He cried out without hesitation, holding a hand to the wounds. "You goddamned psycho!" he snarled, trying to grab at Vega's shirt and bring his opponent to his level. Vega responded with a knee to the man's chin, and followed with a kick to the side of his face. The man was sprawled out on the mat, groaning as he tried to climb to his feet. Vega paced around impatiently. It was taking too long. He kicked the man in the chest, and he toppled over. Vega dropped to his knees, one dropping against his opponent's sternum. One hand gripped the man's throat tightly. His opposite hand hung in the air as he rested the ends of the blades under the man's chin. Wide eyes looked back. How fast they'd gone from defiant to fearful. Confident to pleading. "D-don't do that," the man hissed, trying to sound intimidating, but failing as he felt the tips of those blades press harder against his throat.

"A man who would beg for his life instead of fight for it may not really deserve it," Vega responded as he contemplated what to do.

People were grabbing the chain link fence that made up the cage, shaking it and calling out. Some threatened Vega, others dared him to follow through. The man who'd introduced them was waving his hands madly, telling him to stop.

He was not foolish enough to commit murder in a crowded bar while locked in a cage. Taking his hand from the man's throat, he drew it back and slammed it back down directly into his nose. The man groaned, panting heavily as a shaking hand went to his face, finding more blood. Vega left him, disgusted. "I think, that's it, everyone, that's it," the announcer crowed, glancing nervously as the man on the mat. He climbed up into the cage, officially declaring Vega as the winner, yet again. Some people protested, a few even threw their drinks at the chain link cage.

Vega glanced back at his defeated opponent, and felt his lip curl. Maybe he'd outgrown this. He once again looked out to the spectators, and noticed a few shaking their heads at him. No. Maybe this was not worth the effort anymore. He left the bar without taking his money, exiting through the back into an alley. The claw worn on his wrist was now stowed innocuously in a back pack, along with more casual clothing. He looked around, searching for any signs of a pursuer. Someone pissed that their friend had lost the match and out to make things 'even'. Or even just a patron curious about who he was. No one in that bar had ever seen his face, and no one ever would.

The building next to the bar was two stories, with a ladder around the side that provided roof access. It had become his routine to climb it, and make a dangerous leap from the roof of the building to an adjacent one, and an even more dangerous leap to the fire escape of an apartment building. He'd only fallen once. It was painful enough for him to be sure to never miss the rung again. Once he reached the roof of that building, and confirmed he was alone, he took a second to crouch down and lay the back pack beside him. He pulled off his mask, and ran a hand through his hair out of habit. The mask went into the bag, and a shirt and jeans came out. The jeans went over the more form-fitting pants he wore in the fight without much discomfort, and that was all it took to transform him from a cage fighter in a mask to an average college-aged male.

"How very clever."

He jumped to his feet at the sound of the voice, spinning around to face the source of it. Hadn't he confirmed that he was alone up here? He must not have been thorough enough. A man stood not more than a few feet away, hands in his pockets as he strode forward. He looked vaguely familiar, but Vega couldn't place him. "I'm sorry?" he responded, feigning ignorance as to the context of the man's comment.

"The bag with the clothes. The difficult route to lose any tails or, at the very least, to make them more noticeable before you reintegrate yourself as a regular student wandering home from an evening class." The man smirked as he took notice of the slight twitch of the lips in the younger man, who'd just placed him as the man at the bar who he'd bet himself would be gone three minutes into the match. "But you aren't a student at all, are you? You're quite a famous matador here in Spain."

"If you think of telling anyone, I'll cut your throat while you're sleeping," he threatened. It was all he could think of, being caught off guard by this stranger who obviously had some sort of agenda if he followed him this far.

In the space of a few seconds, the man had somehow covered the few remaining feet between them and took Vega by the throat, lifting him from the ground. Vega's eyes flew wide, fingernails digging into the skin of the man's wrist and the toes of his shoes desperately trying to find the ground so far below them. "Will you, now?" the man said, as if amused by the threat.

"Haa-" Vega choked out pathetically. The man snorted and released his grip. Vega landed on his feet, at least saved from the disgrace of crumbling in a pathetic heap. He crouched for a second, drawing in a full and uninhibited breath before taking another step away from the man. Not that it seemed to matter how much distance was between them-the man moved faster than anyone he'd ever seen. "Why did you follow me here?" he asked finally.

"I had business here in the city," the man explained. "You're famous in more ways than you know."

"How do you mean?"

"An...employee of mine mentioned you. Not by name, of course, since you pretend to not have one there."

"Names are irrelevant. Anyone can be whoever they want. What difference does it make?" he replied, becoming more irritated with this man the more he spoke.

"That much is evident, isn't it, Andrés?"

He felt his heart leap into his throat. He didn't know the last time he'd heard that name. "Who the fuck are you already?" he snapped. He seemed to forget so quickly how moments before he was in danger of being strangled, having become too angered by the mind games this man wanted to play.

"Who I am now is not of much importance. It's who I will be should you hear me out and agree to my terms."

"Are you black-mailing me, then?" Vega asked.

"No. I'm offering you a job."

He didn't know what to say to that. It'd certainly been the last thing he was expecting to hear. Who was this man that he seemed to appear from nowhere, who moved so quickly? And with so much strength? How did he know his name? And what sort of job could he possibly have to offer? After a minute or so of contemplation, Vega ventured to ask, "What did you have in mind?"

The man smiled. "Let's talk over a drink."


	5. Unsolved Mysteries

Unsolved Mysteries  
>Characters: Juri, Vega<br>Summary: Juri takes it upon herself to figure out what's beneath the mask SINs newest employee always wears.

* * *

><p>Juri Han felt that Seth had made a big mistake in hiring an ex-Shadaloo lacky. She hadn't been shy about this opinion either. When Seth first told her that Vega had been brought on board, she'd laughed. When she actually set eyes on him, she laughed harder. He was tall and looked kind of small for somebody who was supposed to strike fear into the hearts of Shadaloo's enemies. That long hair wasn't really helping his image either. And then there was that mask. That weird, stupid mask. What did he have to hide from? Was he just wicked ugly or something? Maybe he thought he had some kind of persona he had to craft. Or maybe it was some kind of joke. It made her laugh, at least.<p>

Never one for unsolved mysteries, Juri took it upon herself to find out what this creep was hiding behind the plain white obstruction. Some part of her was annoyed that anyone thought they were that important that they had to have a secret like that. Who hides their face? Everybody's got one, after all, so who was he to think he got to be an exception? The self-important bastard was going to get a wake up call from her.

She stepped silently in the darkened room, every rustle of her clothing sounding like thunder in the silence. She could make out the figure in the bed, face buried between the pillows. How she hated the heightened suspense. His blond hair was messy, and she could see he wasn't wearing a shirt. She mentally took back what she'd said to him before about not being bulky enough-he looked just fine as he was, lean and toned. Slowly, she pulled at one of the pillows. It was a painstaking process, when suddenly, he was up in a flash, wrenching her arm behind her and slamming her against the nearest wall. "Who the hell are you?" he said, voice groggy. She gave him points for responsiveness.

"Ooh, rough. I like it."

He groaned angrily, releasing her. He stepped away from her, drawing a hand over his face.

"I thought you would be way uglier than you are, to be honest," she said, turning around and crossing her arms in front of her.

"It's three in the morning," he said, brushing his hair out of his face. She shrugged, eyes roving over his toned chest, pausing at the waistband of the jeans he'd been sleeping in, enjoying the sight of the hair there and thinking about where it led.

"Can you turn around? I want the full picture."

He snorted. "You're unbelievable."

"What's the deal with you, then?" she asked, ignoring his obviously annoyed tone. "Why do you wear that mask? If I were you, I'd never cover up my face. To be honest, I'm surprised you're sleeping in that bed alone."

"Why do you think I want to talk to you about _anything_ at this time of night?" he growled. She shrugged as she walked lazily by his dresser, running her hands over the surface. She turned to face him again before hoisting herself up onto it, legs dangling and swinging freely.

"It's as good a time as any."

"No, it really isn't. I'm tired. Go away."

"You have to tell me. I really don't tolerate mysteries. You don't want to know what happens to things I can't tolerate." He gave her a look that said 'sure, whatever you say'. She smiled wickedly, then threw herself at him, knocking him onto his back on the bed. But he responded in kind, using the momentum and shoving her away with his legs. She hit the wall, a small grunt escaping her. "No one ever wants to play when I do. It's a little unfair."

"I don't care," Vega said, standing up. He took her by the arm, and she slung her other arm around his neck, standing on the tips of her toes.

"Come on, you look like you know how to show a lady a good time," she coaxed. She wasn't interested, really, but found that she enjoyed annoying him.

He tightened his grip on her arm, a growl in his throat, and led her out into the hall. Before he let her go, she pulled him close again, pressing against him. "You should just get rid of that mask. And not sleep in your jeans." She emphasized the remark by squeezing his crotch. He pushed her out of his room in response before slamming the door shut behind her. She made sure he could hear her cackling on the other side.

* * *

><p>Just to clarify, I don't see these two as a couple, but I could definitely see them having some kind of perverse, but friendly, rivalry, each one trying to make the other more uncomfortable(and failing). I don't often write about Juri, so I hope I did alright. Thanks for reading. :)<p> 


	6. The Bear and The Bee

The Bear and The Bee  
>Characters: Decapre, Vega, Bison, Killer Bee<br>Summary: Decapre and Vega are introduced to Killer Bee.

* * *

><p>He was always repulsed by the sight of her. She was unconcerned by her appearance. All that mattered to a Doll was its functioning. Half of her face was scarred and mangled, her eyes reddened and bloodshot. The skin would never sit quite right on her skull. He found it harder and harder to look at her as time went on. He didn't know what had happened to her, but he didn't yet have the confidence to ask Bison. The man would admonish him for wasting his time on something so inconsequential. Vega had been entrusted with the training and safety of the Dolls. These were supposed to become Bison's elite under his tutelage, and that was all that mattered.<p>

Her codename was Decapre. He didn't know any of their real names, but he wasn't terribly troubled over it. He knew she spoke with a Russian accent, which led him to assume she'd lived in the country. All of the other girls were kidnapped from various places, so it never crossed his mind to question whether that was the case with her. She was stronger, faster, and learned quicker than the rest. She took orders unflinchingly, while the other girls seemed almost hesitant at times. Whether it was simply a delayed response on their part or some piece of their still-sentient minds screaming out in protest at the orders, he didn't know. He tried never to think about them as the people they'd been before they came here. It bothered him to some degree, though he never voiced this to anyone for fear of his position as commander being revoked. They were too pretty to be so devoid of fervor and life. He thought of the various ways they could become injured or maimed in their line of duty, and it pained him. As a result, he went above and beyond when it came to teaching them. It wasn't just about the pressure of turning them into the best Shadaloo had to offer.

"Decapre." She stepped from the ranks and stood at attention. "Take this." He handed her the simple black mask.

But when she took it, she seemed to hesitate. He couldn't look her in the eye as she spoke. "I can not determine the necessity of this equipment."

His mouth worked wordlessly behind his own mask as he struggled to articulate his reasoning. He had no obligation to justify himself to her, or any of the other Dolls. She wouldn't understand even if he did explain it to her. Bison had approved of it, mentioning that the mask would somehow benefit a new project he was ready to introduce. Vega wasn't yet clear on what that meant, but was not going to question the chance to cover Decapre's face. She was a monster that he couldn't bear to look at. "You need protection," he said on a whim. It was one of the reasons he wore his own, anyway.

She seemed to comply, slipping the mask over her face. The mask, combined with the claws built into her gauntlets, implied to him some sort of strange, inverted version of himself. The others had their own specialty weapons, but only Decapre's were so similar to his own. She asked, "Are the others not required to have protection as well?" He stiffened. Why was she questioning his response?

"Reform ranks," he said, refusing to answer her. She obeyed, stepping back into line. When he first saw it, he thought it'd looked passive and expressionless, like his own. Now that she wore it, it seemed angry, the eye holes turned downward and furrowed, the slit of the mouth seeming pulled back in a permanent grimace. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was judging him, even though he knew she was supposed to be incapable of feeling anything.

But in spite of her programming, Decapre somehow understood that she had been singled out. Instinct warned her of the risks of such a position. She had been marked as something less than adequate. She snapped to a rigid stance when the Commander announced, "Attention." The General had entered the room. Someone else followed behind him, dressed in the standard uniform of the Dolls. Decapre could not determine the source of her sudden stress. A physical sort of illness seemed to be manifesting in the pit of her stomach as she laid eyes on the woman. The woman who looked exactly like her.

Vega couldn't help but stare. Bison's project was apparently Decapre's twin. Had the girl had a sister in Russia? It was the only explanation he could come up with. The two looked exactly alike. But the new girl's face was still flawless and perfect, and hinted at how beautiful Decapre may have been before her injury. "This is your new squad mate, Killer Bee," Bison announced. There were no hushed whispers or murmurs of surprise from the Dolls. They stood silent, as usual, awaiting further instructions. The General turned to Killer Bee, and held a hand out to indicate each of the Dolls. He named them for her, and she took in the information without question. "Relay the information you've just been given, back to me," Bison ordered. She did so. Vega found her voice slightly unsettling. There was no discernible accent. If she was related to Decapre, shouldn't she have sounded similar? He felt Bison's eyes on him and stiffened. "You are to take orders from Commander Vega. He is responsible for your training and safety."

"Sir, yes sir," she intoned in her soulless voice.

"Join ranks," Bison ordered her. She fell in line beside Decapre, standing at attention like the rest. This only furthered Decapre's stress. She couldn't understand what was happening to her. But she'd calculated that it was unwise to draw attention to any more perceived weaknesses. Her mask already marked her, and this was undesirable.

"At ease," Vega said, almost tentatively. He was still a bit mystified by what had just happened. "A word, General?"

"Granted, but not here." Decapre did not miss the way the General seemed to look right at her as he spoke those words. That sick feeling intensified in her stomach. Again, she had been singled out. She began to calculate in her mind the probability that she was being replaced or retired by this woman who had her face.

Vega nodded. "Pair off and spar. Killer Bee, stand down and observe." The rank broke as the Dolls sought out a sparring partner. Vega followed Bison, eager for an explanation to all of this. When Bison stopped on the other side of the room, out of earshot of the Dolls, Vega finally asked, "Who is she?"

"In a word, me."

"You're joking."

"Two years you've spent here, and still you don't appreciate what I'm capable of," Bison said. "Is it willful ignorance, or are you really so oblivious?"

His face flushed red behind the mask. "Forgive me for not understanding the intricacies of genetics," he snapped. "She looks everything like Decapre, and nothing like you."

"Decapre was the test, a prototype. She was created from my DNA and programmed to answer the question of whether or not a replacement body could stand the degenerative force of psycho power. As you can see, she failed." Bison passed a hand over the side of his face, referencing Decapre's marred skin.

"Psycho power did that?" Vega asked. He knew from experience that this mysterious force Bison wielded was painful to interact with. He'd only ever endured fleeting contact with it, but even those moment were some of the most intense physical pains he'd ever felt. It taught him to mouth off less. He wondered sometimes how Bison used it, what it was exactly. This new information about Decapre's deformities did little to answer the questions he had, but it revealed to him that this was not a force to be toyed with by someone who didn't understand it.

"A body that isn't built to withstand it will wither. I've made some modifications since then to prevent further deformations and damage. Even if she can not serve as a potential host, she performs adequately as an assassin."

"And Killer Bee passed the test, I take it? Her face is not so...horrible."

"Correct. The process was perfected, and she will serve as my host, should it become necessary."

Vega narrowed his eyes. "You made your replacement body a woman on purpose?" he asked slowly.

"That conversation is beneath me. My gender is irrelevant to me and my ultimate objective." Fair enough. Bison already seemed at times inhuman, so perhaps his was a perspective Vega couldn't quite comprehend. "You understand, Vega, that I am now entrusting into your care my future, so to speak."

The anxiety hit him like a wall of bricks. He was responsible now for the safety of Bison's potential replacement body. If he let her get hurt, God only knew what Bison would do to him. "Yes," he answered, just to make it clear he'd been listening.

"So teach her well." The threat was clear in Bison's voice. And with that, the man left. He turned his eyes back to the Dolls. There were still a few of them fighting. Killer Bee stood still at the edge of the mat. Bison's clone. He inhaled a wavering breath as he looked at her with that thought in mind. It seemed counter-intuitive to teach her to kill people if he also was meant to keep her safe. Being an assassin was one of the least-safe occupations he could think of. But an order was an order.

Though only half of her face was visible to him, he couldn't help but notice how cold and soulless her eyes were. Just like Decapre. These clones were different than the other Dolls, he realized, in that they had no pasts to miss. They had no memories of emotions, nothing to suppress but the most basic of human instincts. It was difficult for him to imagine life from that perspective. "Killer Bee," he said as he approached her. She turned to face him.

His attention was quickly drawn to the deep, bloody gash that had been carved into the side of her otherwise pale and flawless face. He cursed under his breath as his heart skipped a beat. Ten minutes under his care and she was already injured. Blood was running down her neck, making it impossible for him to determine whether or not anything vital had been damaged. "Aprile! Here, now! Enero, get to the infirmary immediately and bring someone back!" he snapped, the stress mounting. Why hadn't she said she was injured immediately after it happened? "Killer Bee," he repeated. She seemed focused, that had to be a good sign.

"Yes, Commander?"

Aprile approached, inspecting the wound. She tilted Killer Bee's head slightly with one hand. "The injury is not fatal," she said. "However, to prevent infection the wound must be cleaned as soon as possible. To lessen blood flow, compression should be applied." He didn't have anything to apply compression with. Nothing like this had happened before.

"What happened here?" he demanded.

Before the others could answer, he heard Decapre's voice. "Killer Bee's face is defective, Commander."

He turned away from the injured Doll to look at the one who'd spoken. Had that been a hint of indignation, an edge of anger in her voice? That wasn't possible. They were supposed to be emotionless. It was just his imagination. He narrowed his eyes as he studied Decapre. She stood with one arm held slightly behind her, as if to keep it out of sight. But that couldn't be her motivation. Dolls were programmed to prevent deception. He caught sight of something dripping to the blue mat just behind her. He approached her, and she stood still and rigid. He didn't speak to her, instead taking her arm. She resisted, and this startled him. Was she actually trying to deceive him? To lie? How had so much broken down in the space of a few minutes? "Did you attack Killer Bee?" he asked.

She didn't respond. She felt compelled to remain silent, unable to force the answer from her mouth. She didn't even know what a lie was, couldn't conceive of anything other than facts. But to admit to the fact that she had, indeed, injured Killer Bee without reason, meant potential punishment. She did not want to be singled out further than she already had by this mask. She calculated the chances of Killer Bee being given a mask as well should she bear similar scars. The other woman already bore her face. Her own face. Her own-a concept that hadn't ever crossed her mind before this moment. The sight of her face on another person had triggered that sickness, that ill feeling, that thing happening in her that she couldn't explain. Her own face had been stolen, improved, handed up, and she had been marked as the other instead.

The sick feeling in her stomach had not left Decapre, even as Killer Bee's blood dripped from the blade of her claws. In fact, it grew worse as Commander Vega's eyes looked at her in a way she had no words to describe. Like burning, like fire, like pain. She suddenly understood that his eyes were expressing what she couldn't with words. Certainly the General would come here soon to assess Killer Bee. Certainly she her_self_ would be assessed as well. She couldn't hide what had happened here, and the General always seemed to know everything. Her actions would be revealed, and she would be punished. She was not yet aware of what regret was, and couldn't feel it. So she straightened herself as the furious General returned to the room, and she said, "Perhaps Killer Bee requires protection, Commander."

* * *

><p>just something inspired by the recent announcement of Decapre's addition to the USFIV roster, drawn from UDON's comics. it will be interesting to see what they've come up with for her story.<p> 


	7. Dinner and a Show

Dinner and a Show  
>Characters: Viper, Vega, Juri<br>Summary: After an assignment, Viper makes the mistake of accepting an offer of dinner with Vega and Juri. Juri is unhappy with their choice in a restaurant, however, and plans to make it known the only way she knows how.  
>NOTE: I'll be honest, SF storylines confuse the heck out of me and I'm not sure whether Vega went about joining SIN or Shadaloo in SFIV. One source says he's offered a job by SIN, which he accepts, another says he goes 'back to' being a Shadaloo assassin. For the sake of fun, I'm assuming the former.<p>

* * *

><p>Obviously she knew how to use a fork. But also obviously, it was annoying them that she was holding it this way, with her thumb in the curve of the base, index and middle finger pressed against the underside of the tines. She also knew how to eat politely, and not speak with her mouth full of food. But she also knew this annoyed them, too. People shouldn't make it so blatant that they're being annoyed or grossed out, because then they were just inviting themselves into a world of discomfort. And if anything, she liked making people uncomfortable.<p>

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Viper said finally.

Juri grinned, baring her teeth. "I told you I didn't want to go to this classy joint. There was a perfectly fine food truck at the corner."

"I would sooner wash my face with acid than eat food made in the back of a _truck_," Vega said before glancing down at his phone. Viper shrugged, maybe not so extremely opposed to food trucks as him, but she agreed in principal. If she had a choice between that, or a place where you sat down and someone brought you your food, she would nearly always go with the latter.

"Preee-tennn-tiousss," Juri said in a sing-song voice, rocking from side to side and waving her fork like a conductor to an orchestra. Only this orchestra didn't have any instruments and was just kind of glaring, a bit perturbed by her behavior. Her fork slipped from her fingers, and Vega caught it before it could clatter noisily to the ground like Juri had hoped. Imagining the attention such a sudden, loud racket would attract from the other snobs in this place, and how mister moneybags there would've reacted to said negative attention, had been enough for her to give it a shot. But of course, he had quick reflexes and spoiled her plan.

"I'd threaten to keep this from you, but I suppose you'd then simply shove your face into your plate and eat like a pig from a trough," he said, setting the fork back beside her napkin.

"You know me so well," she sighed. She tapped her fork to the plate a few times, making an obnoxious ringing noise. "Buy me a drink, om-bray."

"The last thing we need here is an inebriated _you_," Viper put in quickly. They couldn't afford any unnecessary attention, but Juri seemed bound and determined to attract it anyway. Maybe she shouldn't have conceded to Vega's selection in a restaurant. Hell, maybe she shouldn't have come along at all. That was probably the wisest choice, but everything seemed clear in hind-sight.

It was one thing to work with the two on an assignment. Vega was nearly as efficient as herself, and Juri was...well, Juri. Like a whirlwind of legs and arms that devoured everything in its path. Metaphorically, at least-she hoped. Being around them outside of a working environment, though, was proving to test her patience. Seth wanted the three of them for a particularly tough job, and that had run smoothly enough. Then Vega offered to buy them both dinner. Viper knew enough about him to know he was like a completely different person while in public. Not the sort of guy you'd expect to be a cold-blooded killer. So she took a chance and agreed. Vega and herself had outnumbered Juri on where they would eat. Never one to pass up free food, even in such a stuffy and obnoxious environment, Juri came along begrudgingly, making her dissatisfaction with the choice apparent through everything she did and said.

"Wee-ooh, wee-ooh," Juri said, mimicking a siren. "It's the sobriety police. I've been spotted." Then she made a sputtering noise with her lips before turning her attention back to Vega and smiling in a deceptively sweet manner. "Come on, I know you're no stranger to buying a lady a drink. And you don't have to drug it to get me in bed, either."

Viper saw the way his lips pulled back, almost to the point of baring his teeth, before he stopped himself. "I don't need to drug women to get them into bed."

"I bet that's not what your little rabbit would say," Juri said slowly, watching him carefully. He didn't give her the response she was looking for, so she tried harder. "What's it that you call her again? Con...conaya, conaha, something like that?"

"I have no interest in sleeping with her," he responded in an almost mechanical manner that led Viper to wonder whether the statement was really true or not.

"Or is it that _she _has no interest in sleeping with _you?"_ Juri said, egging him on, bound and determined to get him to explode.

"Shut up, Juri," Viper said finally, not wanting to deal with the fallout.

"I bet I could get her in bed before you do," Juri said sweetly, batting her eyelashes at Vega and smiling a toothy smile. "No roofies necessary, either."

"I _do not _drug women to get them in bed," he repeated through gritted teeth and for a second Viper thought he might jump up and dig her good eye out with a fork.

"Prove it," Juri snapped. "I'm going to pick a girl in this restaurant, and you're going to bang her, tonight." Her eyes roved over the place, hand coming to her chin and index finger tapping her lips. She squinted and 'hmm'ed and her lips twisted in concentration. "Houston, we have a problem, these chicks are all kinds of _meh_. Like _she_ has a prettyish face, but her tits are lacking, and _she_ looks like she would've been pretty a decade ago, before all the tanning beds. But now? Yeesh, leathery is an understatement."

"Stop it," Viper demanded, not at all interested in hearing Juri's detailed evaluations of the women in the establishment. Sometimes it was hard to stay stoic in her line of work. She tried to see it as a good thing, that there was still some difference between herself and these people.

"Hey, you didn't let me finish. Besides me, of course, you just might be the prettiest lady in this restaurant!"

"How exciting," she said in a monotonous voice.

"So, Vega, get to seducing."

At that, Viper finally reacted, her lips twitching down. Vega just rolled his eyes and shook his head a little. "Finish eating so we can end this terrible experiment of whether or not you are fit to participate in civilized society," he muttered as he stood up, heading for the bathroom.

"Oh, he's no fun," Juri sighed before leaning forward, elbows planted on the table. "Hey, what do you say we ditch him and have him foot the bill? After ordering a few more expensive dishes to go?"

"He already said he'd pay for it," Viper reminded her. She'd read somewhere that narcissistic people like spending money. She didn't like Vega, so she really didn't mind taking advantage of that part of his dysfunctional personality. The food was good, but the experience would've been less awkward without Juri around.

"Huh." Juri paused, and cocked an eyebrow. She sank down in her chair and fiddled with her phone. Viper sighed out loud when the younger woman put her feet up on the table.

"Don't do that," she demanded, but of course, went ignored. Juri seemed much more interested in her phone, as evidenced by the wicked smile that suddenly lit up her face and the way her fingers were moving so quickly over the screen. A look like that could only mean trouble, and Viper felt a sudden sort of anxiousness in the pit of her stomach."Juri," she said, a little less annoyed this time in hopes of getting an answer. "What are you up to?"

Her eyes flashed up to meet Viper's, that grin still plastered to her face. "Oh, you'll see." She let the arm holding the phone dangle beside her, looking around for a moment as if waiting for something.

"What did you do?" Viper asked slowly.

"Just wait, will you?" Juri snapped back. "You're gonna ruin it." The last sentence was whispered quickly, spat out before Vega got back to their table. He smacked her feet, and she actually complied, setting them back on the floor. "We want dessert," Juri said as he sat down.

"Go get it from your food truck then," he said. "I want out of here before you do something we'll all regret." There was a little noise, a phone notification, and Viper saw Vega's hand go to his pocket. Then his other pocket. Then his brows drew together a bit, and it dawned on Viper that Juri hadn't been messing with _her _phone.

The little giggle she tried to stifle confirmed this, and Viper watched helplessly as Vega's eyes fixed themselves on Juri, who was ginning madly as she typed another message into his phone. World War III was about to erupt at the table, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. "It seems that the word 'pussy' makes Cammy a little uncomfortable," Juri said. "Ironic, really, because she likes cats a lot."

"I would stop if I were you," Viper advised warily, not at all liking the look Vega was giving Juri. Vega, she knew, had a weird sort of friendship with Cammy. Why the girl put up with him, she didn't know, but it didn't exactly surprise her that he had her phone number. If Cammy was smart, she would've broken all contact with Vega in the event he was finally arrested. Which, if Viper's work with SIN went as planned, would be sooner rather than later, even if her main objective had nothing to do with him.

"You just told her you'd get her used to hearing it though," Juri continued. "So you better make good on 'your' promise to her, alright?" She pointed her finger at Vega.

A string of the notification noises twittered through the tense air before Vega said in a low, almost whispered voice, "Give me my phone."

"Gotta say the magic word," Juri said, smiling to herself as she read the new series of outraged messages.

"I'm warning-"

"Hold on," she said, typing in another message. "Now you're telling her that the way you roll your tongue is really useful for things other than speaking Spanish."

"_¡___Me cago en la madre que te parió_!" _He spat the words out as he reached over the table and grabbed her by the wrist. She cackled wildly as she passed the phone off to her other hand, holding it out farther from him. He yanked hard on her arm, and she planted a foot in his chest to keep him from pulling her close enough to get his phone back.

Viper put a hand to her forehead, face flushing red. "Stop it, you morons!" she hissed. She really expected more composure from Vega, given the double-life he led. But toying with Cammy was apparently a big no-no, one of many shortcuts to pissing him off.

"Oh, she's mad now!" Juri cried out, tilting her head back to look at the phone. The whole restaurant was staring at them now, and Viper wished she'd been given a power suit that could make a person disappear. "That's okay, you'll make it up to her next time you see her, and give her a nice, hard-" She was cut off when he managed to grab her by the collar and yank her closer. "Hey, how big is your dick? I don't want you to lie to her in this next message, you know."

"_Puta-"_

"Excuse me!" cried a shrill and unfamiliar voice. Vega froze, and Juri smiled, turning her eyes up to the people who'd rushed to the table. Viper continued to try to hide her face as best as she could. Embarrassment was not a strong enough word for this. "We do _not _tolerate this kind of behavior in our restaurant. Please, pay for your meal, and leave." The man, maybe he was the owner of the place, or just a manager on duty or something, but he pointed towards the exit. Viper had never in her life been kicked out of...well, any establishment. She admonished herself for thinking there was such a thing as a peaceful meal with Juri and Vega around. She could've been enjoying a carton of lo mein in her hotel room right now, instead of trying to hide her furiously burning cheeks behind her hand.

"Sure thing, chicken wing," Juri cried happily, as if she was being asked a small favor and not being expelled. With a bit of a flourish, she held the phone back out to Vega. "You can thank me later." Viper saw the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he snatched back the phone, but he refused to look at Juri.

Viper didn't wait around to watch the rest, heading for the exit instead. She wanted to be as far away from the volatile pair as possible. She made it outside, to the pleasant and mild dusk air. Behind her, she heard more wild laughter, and a few seconds later, what she could only imagine to be very creative cursing in Spanish. She sighed as she glanced back at the two, Juri walking backwards and making lewd and detailed remarks about what 'Vega' had promised to do to Cammy, and Vega spat back in Spanish still, typing furiously into his phone as some kind of damage control.

"What a disaster," Viper muttered to herself. She'd make sure this would be the last time Seth assigned the three of them to do anything together.


	8. Survive

Cleaning out my doc manager and i found this...don't really remember when i wrote it, and thought about deleting it but then maybe someone could enjoy it.

Survive  
>Characters: Chun-Li, Vega<br>Summary: A few months after Chun-Li barely thwarted Vega's attempt on her life, she finds something she forgot was in her apartment.

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><p>She remembered waking up in a hospital. Remembered hearing Guile stubbornly argue with a doctor about something or another. She <em>thought <em>she'd smiled, but in retrospect she could have just imagined doing so. He had been looking out for her best interest. Made her feel almost like having a parent again. A blood transfusion and a mess of stitches later, and she was back at home.

That had been months ago. Things were quieter, but it was still hard to sleep sometimes. As dangerous as her line of work was, she'd never come so close to death as that. If Guile had been any later, she probably would've bled out. At first, the emptiness of her apartment had been difficult to deal with. She even thought of getting a pet to help her feel less alone. It was a weird problem to have, to be afraid of how empty and quiet the place felt. Somehow, with all that silence, she was left to listen for the barest noise, to work herself into a panic over it. She thought maybe if she had a pet, or hell, even a roommate, then she could blame the noises on someone else and not have to fear them.

She realized soon enough how silly that was, but tried not to give herself a hard time over it. It'd been a deadly situation, she'd survived it, and she had to focus on that. There was still work to do. Vega may have been dead, but the rest of Shadaloo was still very much a threat.

The television was on. Some sitcom yammering away, occasionally drowned out by the sound of thunder from outside. It didn't bother her that she couldn't hear the show. She wasn't even paying attention to it. Just had to fill the silence while she worked. She was focused on the papers on her desk. Some drug dealer was willing to spill what he knew about Shadaloo in exchange for a lighter sentence. That created more work. Somehow, Bison always caught wind of narcs, and any that tried to engage in a deal like this with law enforcement ended up dead before they got a chance to speak. That meant more agents on duty to watch this guy before something bad happened to him.

She sighed when her pen ran out of ink in the middle of a sentence. The tried-and-true 'scribble til it works again' failed her, and she leaned over to toss it in the bin beside her desk. She opened the top drawer of her desk, didn't find another pen. To avoid forgetting what she'd been writing, she kept repeating the sentence fragment in her head-'_extra security required, extra security required'. _Drawer number two was a bit bigger, and she frowned a bit. It was like a catch-all for random things she didn't have a place for. But apparently still no pen. _'Extra security required, extra security required.' _The third drawer slid open and she drew in a sharp breath, forgetting what she'd stowed in it.

The white mask still sat in the clear plastic bag she'd left it in. It'd ended up beneath her bed somehow after all was said and done. Not a very thorough team of crime scene investigators, she guessed. It startled her when she saw it after cleaning up around her apartment one evening. She didn't know what she was planning to do with it. With Vega dead, there was no reason to collect evidence from it and link it back to him. She should've gotten rid of it. Maybe given it to Interpol anyway, just for the satisfaction of it. Get some kind of post-mortem conviction on him, so no one had any reason to mourn him. Now it felt like some sort of awful trophy she didn't even want to look at. She didn't take pleasure in killing another person, even one so horrible as Vega. Justice wasn't about ending a life. But she'd done what she had to do to survive.

She drew it out of the bag. Maybe she just wanted a distraction from her work. It was smooth, and really didn't feel like it could take much of a beating. Maybe that's why he'd taken it off during the fight. Something like that made for poor protection, really. The straps were broken. She could see the beginning of a crack over the cheek. Had she done that when she kicked him? Or was it from another fight? Some morbid curiosity welled up in her, and she looked up at the mirror. Holding the mask over her face, she peeked through the eye holes at her reflection. There was the slightest obfuscation of her peripheral. She'd always wondered how much of a hindrance it was to wear. He bragged about protecting his good looks, but she knew she'd been right to suspect he had something bigger to hide when she first encountered him. While it was a bit unlikely that people in Thailand would recognize a Spanish matador, he was not careless enough to take a chance on it.

Her brown eyes stood out starkly next to the plain white surface of the mask. His had been blue, hadn't they? Like ice, being the most obvious comparison to draw. Why was she doing this? Letting herself get distracted over him? She didn't regret what she'd done. It was him or her. He made the decision that someone was going to die that night, not her. She had no reason to feel any guilt over ending his life. At least, she kept telling herself that. But the fact that she hated him gave her reason to question whether or not she truly relished his death. She set the mask back down. It was unsettling her now. She knew she should get rid of it. It was like she was keeping him alive by holding onto it like this. She stuffed it back into the clear plastic bag, and tossed it away on to her bed. It would go out with the next bag of garbage, she promised herself that.

She gasped when the room suddenly went dark. The television was dead. Not even the fridge was humming quietly. She sighed, but felt a bit rattled at being suddenly plunged into darkness and silence. The storm must've knocked out the power. So much for getting work done. Maybe she'd go out for dinner instead. The idea of sitting alone in the pitch black and silent apartment wasn't at all an appealing one. There was a flashlight in the kitchen, so she headed there.

Thunder rumbled loudly and she held her breath, waiting for quiet again before pulling a flashlight out of the drawer. Then she heard it, the tiniest, faintest crinkle of plastic coming from her bedroom. Her heart began to beat faster. What had made that noise? She was certain she heard it, and slowly, almost painfully so, she took another step into her room. She hadn't flicked the flashlight on yet, but clutched it tightly. Her firearm was on the desk she'd been working at, along with her badge. She knew it was probably a bad habit to not keep it locked up, or at least in a drawer. And if the intruder found it first, she'd definitely learn her lesson the hard way.

Another slow step put her closer to the bed. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the dark, and she thought she could see someone. She felt for the gun on the desk, movements slow and cautious to avoid any noise. There was that crinkling noise again. Her fingers brushed the grip of the firearm, and she felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. Slowly, she lifted it up, finger pressed to the side, just above the trigger. Maybe it was just a petty thief. No sense in hurting a person over her possessions. But she had to be prepared for the worst, given her line of work and the number of people who knew her as the reason they ended up in prison.

She took another agonizing step towards the figure, judged herself to be close enough, and made her presence known by pressing the barrel of the gun to the back of his head. "Drop whatever you just picked up," she said. "Hands on your head."

"Rabbit was a good name for you." The color drained out of her face at the sound of the low, almost amused, voice. She clenched her jaw in an effort to keep any signs of fear or surprise from escaping her.

"You fell twelve stories." It was all she could manage. "That should've killed you."

"Maybe a lesser man," he said and she could imagine the condescending smirk on his face.

She pulled back the slide on the gun. "Let's test your limits, then."

In spite of the threat, he laughed, almost in a polite way. "You and I both know you won't do that."

"How do you figure?" But he was right, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was a cop, not an executioner.

"I know killers. You aren't one." He moved finally, turning around to face her. She tensed, gripping the gun tighter, but she couldn't force her index finger over the trigger. There was a flash of lightning, and they were briefly illuminated. He wasn't as amused as she thought. "I came here for this." He held up the mask, still in its clear plastic bag, seeming completely oblivious to the gun in his face. "I suppose it would be the gentlemanly thing to thank you for keeping it. Your apartment is much easier to break into than an evidence room."

"I should've smashed it to pieces," she said, just to spite him. She knew she should've gotten rid of the damned thing, but how could she know he'd survive that drop? Was it so wrong to assume that someone who'd fallen something like 35 meters would be dead? She'd never gotten a chance to get the visual confirmation herself. Hadn't been able to make it to the shattered window, to peer out at the pavement of the alley below and make sure he wasn't moving. "How are you still alive?"

"Shadaloo's health insurance is quite good."

"Answer me!" she demanded, fed up with his evasions and mind games. The way he pretended to know her, to know what she would and wouldn't do, made her feel somewhat exposed and vulnerable.

She wasn't prepared for it when his hand shot out to grab her wrist. Her breath rushed out of her when her back hit the wall. He'd abandoned the mask to free his hands to pin her there. His nose was inches from hers, their eyes were locked on each other's, and she realized comparing his eyes to ice was a mistake. There was fire there, a spark of insanity and fury, even if the rest of his face didn't show it and maybe that was what made him so frightening. That you had to be so close to see that something was wrong, and by the time you were near enough to notice, it was already too late. She gritted her teeth, trying to somehow get the gun pointed back at him, but found it nearly impossible. Discharging it now would mean sending a bullet into the apartment above her, and that was too dangerous. "What makes you think I owe you an explanation?" he said, his voice still low and quiet. "Three months of my life, gone in an instant, because of you, _coneja. _I think _you _are the one who owes _me."_

"Am I supposed to feel bad for you? If anything, I'm sorry I didn't kill you."

"Do you think you would survive?" She saw his eyes move over to the window beside them, and her heart skipped a beat. Would he do it? Would he shove her out the window and leave her for dead? Who was she kidding, of course he would. He laughed softly. "Yes, I think that was the look I had on my face, too."

"Do it or don't," she said.

She felt his grip slacken, and she tensed, unable to decide how to react. Did she take this split second to shove him back out herself, see if he'd survive another go around? His hand shook as he tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, and he turned away. Immediately she brought the gun back to about chest level. He was so sure that she wouldn't shoot him. Was he right? She slid her finger over the trigger for the first time. If he meant to hurt her, then no, he was wrong. She had to do what was necessary to survive.

There was a humming noise as the electricity came back on. She glanced up briefly at the lightbulb in the ceiling before returning her eyes to him. He looked paler than normal, a bit on the thin side, sick almost. She wondered briefly if she would have been able to easily overpower him, and regretted not trying when he grabbed her. "You didn't cut the power?" she asked.

"No. Complete silence was, as you may have noticed, not conducive to my goal." He rubbed the mask through the bag as he picked it up, making the plastic crackle noisily. "I saw you try to put it on, you know." Embarrassment and anger fought for dominance over her. How long had he been in her apartment? "Don't ever do it again." Those words seemed different than the rest. The almost amused tone was completely gone, and the threat in them was clear. She watched cautiously as he moved through her apartment, towards the front door, and let himself out as casually as if it were his own place. Blinking a few times, she forced herself to follow, but when she looked out the door and into the corridor, he was gone.


End file.
